I recall very clearly how mother took me to Writhlington church on Sunday evenings […] Mother actually took me to keep me out of mischief, for I had already attended a Primitive Methodist chapel at Green Parlour morning and afternoon. It meant much more than that to me however for I had reached an impressionable age. I recall the sound of the bell as we walked under the trees to the church, the swish of ladies’ dresses as they dragged on the matting along the aisle, the venerable figure of the clergyman as he entered the pulpit, and the singing of the choir before they came out to their stalls.